Courageous Mary Magdalene

Women played an important role in the closing events of Jesus’ earthly life – his crucifixion, death, and resurrection – and we overlook the fact all too easily. These women are presented in the gospels as Jesus’ compassionate and courageous followers.
Foremost among them was the dauntless Mary Magdalene.

This element in the gospels is noteworthy because in Jewish life of the first century AD women held a lowly place. There was a rabbinic saying, “Let the words of law be burned rather than delivered to women.” That is, sacred Jewish law ought not to be wasted on women.

A daily prayer in the Jewish prayer book thanked God, King of the Universe “for not having made me a Gentile … slave … or woman.” Women could not even appear as witnesses in a Jewish court of law.

Yet, of the women highlighted in the accounts of Jesus’ final days, Mary Magdalene “out of whom Jesus had cast seven demons,” is given a leading place.

Luke gives us the background: “After this, Jesus traveled about from one town and village to another, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom of God. The twelve were with him, and also some women who had been cured of evil spirits and diseases: Mary (called Magdalene) from whom seven demons had come out; Joanna the wife of Cuza, the manager of Herod’s household; Susanna; and many others. These women were helping to support Jesus and the apostles out of their own means” (Luke 8:1-3).

Writing of Jesus’ crucifixion itself Matthew says: “Many women were there, watching from a distance. They had followed Jesus from Galilee to care for his needs. Among them were Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joses, and the mother of Zebedee’s sons” (Matthew 27:55,56).

Mark tells the same story, identifying Mary Magdalene but adding “Many other women who had come up with him to Jerusalem were also there” — at the cross (Mark 15:40,41). We can imagine that from the elevation of his cross Jesus drew comfort from them at a distance, even as the crowds milled about, jeering and mocking. But their being present as women would have been dangerous.

According to Mark, after Jesus expired and his body was laid in a borrowed tomb, “Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses saw where he was laid” (Mark 15:47). This can only mean that during that whole perilous time the women kept themselves close to the action.

And, according to Mark, they were diligent in attending to some unfinished business with regard to the burial of the dead: “When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so they might go to anoint Jesus body” (Mark 16:1). This was apparently after sundown on the Sabbath, and they hoped to finish their ministrations at sunrise the next morning.

Mark also reports the resurrected Christ’s first appearance, keeping Mary Magdalene in the spotlight: “When Jesus rose early on the first day of the week, he appeared first to Mary Magdalene, out of whom he had driven seven demons” (Mark 16:9).

And Luke reports that Mary Magdalene was the first one to report to the Apostles thus: “When (the women) came back from the tomb, they told all these things to the eleven and to all the others. It was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James and the others with them who told (of Jesus’ appearance) to the apostles” (Luke 24:9,10).

Most striking of all, John gives exclusive credit to Mary Magdalene for carrying the good news of Jesus’ resurrection back to the apostles: “Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: ‘I have seen the Lord’” (John 20:18). That made her the first bearer of the good news of the gospel.

We can’t sidestep the message all four reporters of the gospel must have intended as they told their story: These were noble women, and in their actions at least, fearless in following Jesus. And they stood steady when the test of loyalty confronted them.

Foremost among them was Mary Magdalene whom Jesus had delivered from the torments of the realm of darkness and had given her the freedom to serve. How can any Christ follower forget that she showed her gratitude in living out a bold loyalty to her Master and she put that loyalty into venturesome action?

Judas, the Man from Ischariot

Easter Sunday, April 8, 2012 will be a day of great celebration for Christians everywhere! But there is a dark figure in the drama leading up to Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection — that of Judas Iscariot, the disciple who betrayed him.

None of the four gospel accounts answers the question: Did Jesus know, when he chose Judas as one of his twelve disciples, that he would betray him?

Whether or not Jesus knew, Judas achieved a significant and trusted role in the company of the twelve disciples; he was the treasurer, caring for the funds (John 12:6). If food was to be bought for the Twelve, he made the purchase. If alms were to be given to the poor, he dispensed them.

It may be that Judas felt reserve about Jesus from the beginning. Consider this small but telling detail: at the Last Supper when Jesus made it known that one among them would betray him, the other disciples asked in shock one at a time, “Surely not I, Lord.” Judas responded “Surely not I, Rabbi?” — a less exalted, more formal title than “Lord.” (Matt. 26: 20-25). Our words so easily give us away.

It was a few days before that last supper that Judas showed his true state of heart. At a feast in the home of Martha six days before Passover, Martha’s sister, Mary, came near to the banquet table where Jesus was eating. She opened a container of nard, a precious perfume, and poured it on Jesus’ feet. Then having nothing on hand to spread or wipe away the excess, she threw her hair over her head and wiped his feet. The whole house was filled with the fragrance. Those of us who truly love the Lord would have been deeply moved if we had witnessed this generous act of worship and devotion.

Not Judas. The Apostle John instead identifies Judas as the one who failed to see the beauty of the moment and complained self-righteously, “’Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor?’ It was worth a year’s wages.” (Jn 12: 5).

John was the last of the four gospel writers to write his account and he adds a detail the others do not: “(Judas) did not say this because he cared for the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it” (Jn 12:6). Behind the scenes Judas was a pilferer – one who took money that was not his from the bag, a little at a time.

It is clear that Judas’ sins were his own. There is no indication in Scripture that he was a pawn in the drama or that what he did was foreordained, though foreknown. He sought out the chief priests to offer his services to betray Jesus stealthily into their hands. He worked out the deal with them and then, he watched for his opportunity. He led the officials and their underlings into the Garden to arrest him. (Lk. 22:4-8).

The end for Judas is well known – his belated and apparently self-centered remorse, the effort to relieve his conscience by returning the money, his suicidal death. All this is sad beyond words.

But Judas’ story is in the account of our Lord’s passion to highlight the consequences of sin even for those most privileged and even seemingly favored, and it should prompt our sober reflections as we ask with the apostles, “Surely not I, Lord?”

Tackling the Book of Revelation

The ships of the faithful will not capsize

Last week, Kathleen and I read the last chapter of Revelation together, thus completing our most recent read-through of the Bible – at the rate of one chapter a day.

This “revelation,” or unveiling, which God gave through Jesus to show the exiled John was more puzzling to us than our usual daily Bible readings. It was given for the benefit of the seven churches of western Asia. Its scrolls and seals and plagues; beast and dragon and Abyss; different colored horses and symbolic numbers; and all the scene-changes — these came at us in such rapid succession that our imaginations were severely challenged to try to keep up!

To me it seemed kaleidoscopic. Kathleen was a little more nimble in moving from one curious picture to the next.

Having completed the entire Bible, our custom is to turn the next day to the first book of the Bible, Genesis, to begin our next read-through. But we decided instead to travel through the Revelation once again, this time taking it even more slowly if we must. And that’s what we are currently doing — with great profit!

But first we had to be clear about what sort of literature “the Apocalypse” is.

We know from the name of the book that it is a “Revelation,” an “Apocalypse” — which means an unveiling. But the writer also calls it a prophecy (1:3). That is, the spirit of prophesy has been awakened and God is once more speaking through a man. But to do so, it appears, he will use what someone has called cartoon language, filled with concrete images, rich in symbolism. Thus, he gives his servant, John, visions through which he conveys his word about “what must soon take place” (1:1).

In our second reading it is already becoming apparent that he speaks to the fears and uncertainties of believers who wonder: where is God when evil appears to be so powerful and destructive, and when will he bring the present iniquitous and frightening age to some positive turn towards him, or judgment? And how will a new age, free of such hurtful evil, be brought about?

Kathleen and I are already several chapters into the book in our second read-through.

Chapter four has always been among my favorites. What holds my attention in chapter four is that in the heavenly world — not seen to the human eye but seen by revelation to the spirit — there is a throne, and that throne is occupied! It has not been vacated, captured, or in any way damaged by attacks.

And when one reads the chapter again and again one sees that the word “throne” appears repeatedly. It is “in heaven” and it turns up ten times in eleven short verses. This is obviously intentional and must tell us what the real issue of Revelation four is: however dark our circumstances and however menacing the times, God is on his throne — he rules!

One thing I’ve learned about life as a serious believer in Jesus Christ is that when issues arise that threaten to shake my foundations, that picture in my mind of the throne of God seems to quickly firm up my faith. It stabilizes me.

We know already from our previous reading that there will be heavy judgments ahead to be visited on the world for its evil, like storms visited upon ships at sea, but the ships of the faithful will not capsize because God is on his throne.

The mystery of evil is still with us. At times it perplexes, even nearly overwhelms. It turns up at the power-center of nations, in small communities, often in families, even in the church. But the Eternal God rules from his throne, high, lifted-up, and in charge, in the face of every storm!

What Made the Prodigal Son Go Bad? Part 2 of 2

Last week, I reviewed Jesus’ story of the Prodigal Son as some readers today might interpret it. In short, I pointed out that a few may explain the prodigal’s choice to leave home, and the trouble this got him into, in a modern way. They might suggest that he went wrong because his family situation was defective. They might even paint him as a person victimized by life.

Then I asked why Jesus told the story without any of this kind of excuse-making, and I suggested that I’d give my opinion this week.

I grant that when it comes to the less-than-perfect environments we parents create for our children, we are all in the equation, without question. But — after secondary reasons are considered — the ultimate reason for the bad turns children sometimes take can be traced to what goes on in the command center of their own inner beings. It is that deliberate, out-of-sight, self-determining choice-maker over which they alone have a limited but still deciding authority.

There’s a story about identical twins who, it is said, were drawn into a study of what affects people’s outcomes in life. One twin, a homeless man was camped out near a sidewalk grate in a large city. He was asked how he explained this outcome. He said, “If you had known my father you would understand; he was an alcoholic.” The other twin, a businessman who had overcome great odds to succeed, was asked how he explained the outcome of his life. He answered, “If you had known my father you would understand; he was an alcoholic.”

Identical twins. A common parentage. After factoring in possible slight temperamental differences, and possible subtle relational differences, we come to the critical factor of personal choices. There, the differences are vast.

If the Christian Scriptures teach us anything about outcomes for this world or the next it is that in the final analysis we are all accountable for our choices. That’s why Jesus told the story the way he did.

The son appealed to his father brazenly for the big handout. That was a choice. He packed up and left home — a direction-setting choice. He took up with bad company, also a choice. Each choice came easier; each choice tilted the trajectory of his life toward a downward spiral.

Years ago when I began to hear the heart-breaking stories of children who had wandered into the “far country” of dissolute living I grew tired of the question, “What did the parents do wrong?” I grant that it can be an admissible question. We parents by our teaching and example can make it easier or harder for our children to make good, life-enhancing choices.

But I felt impatient with the question when it seemed to overlook the direction-setting choices the children themselves had made. After all, God created us to make choices! Vocational choices have vocational consequences, marital choices, marital consequences, moral choices, moral consequences, and faith choices eternal consequences.

There is bad news and good news in the story of the Prodigal Son. The bad news is that he chose to follow a path that led down the road to gnawing hunger in a pig pen. The good news is that in his impoverishment he came to his senses, took responsibility for outcomes, and started the long trek home to his father. He was moved to say to his Father (forgetting all the assumed offenses he might claim were committed against him) “Father, I have sinned.”

The Bible calls it repentance — the radical changing of the very set of the mind; the acceptance of personal responsibility; the big turn-around with resolution; and the pointing of life in another direction. It is the grace-enabled I word — a choice that arrests the downward spiral and turns the trajectory of life in an upward direction again.

(Note: I have taken from the story of the Prodigal Son only one element in the story to make one point. In this blog I have not explored the deeper and more complex theological question of the relationship between divine sovereignty and human responsibility, and the primacy of grace. Save those for another day.)

What Made the Prodigal Son Go Bad? Part 1 of 2

Nearly everybody knows what the prodigal son did (Lk 15:11-32). He brazenly asked his father for his inheritance long before it was due. Then he went a great distance from home in search of “real freedom.” In that far-off place he attracted a following of ne’er-do-wells and together they caroused until his resources were spent.

Then came abandonment by his fair-weather “friends,” degrading work as a pig-tender, grinding hunger, disillusionment and desperation, and finally his forlorn trek back home — smelly and in rags — to throw himself on his father’s mercy.

Here’s my question: Is there today a more nuanced and thus better explanation for the self-destructive course the son took?

For example, there is no mother in the story. Might it be that the lad had been deprived of maternal warmth in his developing years that had left him insecure and therefore vulnerable to his own impulsive conduct?

And there was his heartless older brother who objected bitterly to his father’s tenderness toward the younger son. Should the prodigal’s bad judgment be viewed as less serious because of destructive sibling rivalry that had never been resolved? Maybe this was a factor in his hasty leave-taking!

Then what about the father? Had this father played favorites or otherwise failed his task in raising this younger son — with damaging results?

Should we say, for example, that the son isn’t responsible because his father should have put his foot down during the son’s early adolescence and notified him sternly that what he needed to do was to develop a good work ethic right there on the farm?

Parental mistakes? If we could blame adolescent rebellion on less-than-perfect parenting, all of our children would be delinquents. That’s because all parents make mistakes.

We can do things in our relating to our children, sometimes innocently, that inadvertently make it easier for them to turn to wasteful living. But is that the crucial issue in the prodigal’s case? And why did Jesus tell the story the way he did, offering no excuses for this boy’s behavior?

Next week, I’ll offer an opinion.

Rock-Solid Truth for the New Year

My special verse for this holy season has been, “For in Christ, all the fullness of Deity lives in bodily form” (Col. 2:9) For me, the musical flow, the cadences of the King James Version, makes it all the more wonderful: “For in Christ dwelleth all the fullness of the godhead bodily.”

The fullness of Deity. The fullness of the Godhead. What can this mean but that everything Christ Jesus is, God is? And everything God is, Christ Jesus is? Jesus is not merely a vague reflection of God, a hint, a signpost. God’s fullness, though “veiled in flesh” is in him. And the wonder deepens when we say this fullness dwells “bodily.” He is God living for a season on this earth as man – the God/Man.

When one dips an empty glass container into the Pacific Ocean until every cubic inch is submerged and then draws it out, the container contains the fullness of the ocean. What is in the container is identical to what is in the ocean. No element is left out. In other words, the Apostle is attesting that all of God is fully present in Christ Jesus.

The New Testament repeatedly makes this claim. “[Christ] is the image of the invisible God” (Col. 1:15). He is the embodiment, the representation, the complete likeness to the God we cannot see with our human eyes. Writing of our Lord’s existence before all time, John says, “…the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (John 1:1). But that would be of little help to us if he did not add, “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us” (John 1:14). He came bodily.

The Nicene Creed (325 A.D.) attests him as “God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God…” But it also affirms that, “he was incarnate by the Holy Spirit of the virgin Mary, and was made man….”

The early church made deliberate effort to encapsulate this great wonder of incarnation in human language. Another creedal statement says that he was as much God as though he had never been man, and as much man as though he had never been God.

Jesus made such claims for himself. In answer to Philip’s perplexity he said, “He who has seen me has seen the Father,” and then asked, “Don’t you believe that I am in the Father and that the Father is in me?” (John 14:9,10).

When unbelieving Jews challenged him about his claims he did not back away. He announced, “I and the Father are one” (John 10:30). That means more than one in purpose; it means one in being. They share in the godhead — Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

It’s that word “bodily” that rings in my ears. The incarnation of God in Christ has forever been an unfathomable mystery to the church but at the same time an article of deep faith, a truth to be embraced, however incompletely understood. He took up human residence in our world.

His purpose in coming was clear: “God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men’s sins against them….” (2 Cor. 5:19). In Christ, the Son of the Father came to earth bodily; he ministered to human suffering and bondage bodily; he identified with the pain of our fallenness bodily; he yielded himself up to a barbaric instrument of torture bodily. And all of this was to pay our sin debt, overcome our rebellious hearts, and win us back to God.

And the cap sheaf of it all is that when he had completed his earthly mission he ascended back to the glory of the Father bodily (Acts 1:9). Think of what that promises for our resurrection!

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The Pain of Unrequited Love

Is there any pain that stings more sharply than the pain of unrequited love? Is there any emotional experience more gut-wrenching, relentless, and unrelieved? Even in the dark of a sleepless night hot tears flow. The impulse is to scream to muted walls. It is pain without relief.

Unrequited love is love that is due -– but withheld.

A mother devotes two decades to doing every selfless thing a mother’s heart is moved to do –- endure labor in giving birth, feed, bathe, launder soiled clothes, soothe fevered forehead, instruct, correct, teach life-lessons, and all this, year after year, right into young adulthood.

But the kind of reciprocal love all this should engender in the growing child either does not seem to form or quickly disappears. With the coming of adulthood, the relationship becomes merely formal, devoid of warmth, coldly proper. Mother-love goes unrequited.

Or, a wife serves her husband out of a great reservoir of covenanted love. She is there for him, tries within her limits to meet his needs, washes his clothes, makes his meals, even blesses him with children. But without explanation he walks out and she is left with a searing sense of loneliness and betrayal. Inexplicably, her heart continues to love him, but her love goes unrequited.

Pictures like these formed as Kathleen and I read from Micah 6 and 7 this morning. The Old Testament is in one sense the the story of unrequited love on a grand scale.

By miracles, the Lord had shown the ancestors of this people covenant love in times of severe hardship in the wilderness. And over and over again he had reminded them of his gracious blessings poured upon them. He shepherded, disciplined, comforted, protected -– all for loving reasons.

Then comes Micah 6 carrying that grand Old Testament declaration of what the Lord wanted: “He has showed you, O man, what is good./ And what does the Lord require of you?/ To act justly and to love mercy/ and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8).

But these were precisely Israel’s failures. She had not acted justly, cheating and extorting as opportunities presented themselves. She had not loved mercy, leaving poor neighbors to struggle in their destitution. And her people had long since ceased worshiping God in true humility of heart.

They had been reminded often, but this generation refused to remember. They were now settled long after wilderness wanderings and many had become wealthy. They should have remembered with reciprocal love, but they did not. Instead, they had gone their own way, leaving their Lord’s love unrequited.

The result of this neglectful amnesia was that the community of the Lord’s chosen had become a place of moral degeneration. Their society had lost almost all social cohesion (Micah 7: 4-6). Even blood relations were severed: “For a son dishonors his father,/ a daughter rises up against her mother … a man’s enemies are the members of his own household” (Micah 7:6).

This kind of social breakdown is still with us. I saw a woman weeping bitter tears after a church service. I approached her. “My three children have divorced me,” she said through her tears. Christmas was approaching but there would be no Christmas greetings or gifts for her, only a punishing silence, an experience of unrequited love.

Not many come as far as midlife without experiencing in some fashion this kind of unanswered love. It is devastating. How can it be endured? How do we stave off bitterness?

Our model is Jesus. “He came unto his own but his own people did not receive him” (Jn 1:11). Can we imagine his pain? After three years of faithful ministry to his disciples, it was said of them, “Then everyone deserted him and fled” (Mk 14:50). What was his response to such unrequited love? He committed his soul and its suffering to a loving and faithful father and carried on.

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Mary Magdalene: A Post-Easter Reflection

During my recent careful reading of the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ death and resurrection I was surprised by the large place Mary Magdalene held in the story. You might say, she’s number one among the women who visited the tomb. Consider these facts:

She was possessed of seven demons when she was drawn into Jesus’ ranks. He delivered her. Two Gospel accounts state this fact. (Lk 8:2, Mk 16:9).

All four Gospel writers place her at the tomb on the Sunday morning of Jesus’ resurrection (Matt. 28:1; Mk 16:1; Lk 24:10; Jn 20:1). No other woman is mentioned in all four accounts. In fact, the Gospel of John places her there twice, first before she went back into the city to notify Peter and John that the tomb was empty, and then again after Peter and John had gone out to the site to see for themselves and then had left (Jn 20:1,10,11).

Also, she is the only one the two angels at the tomb addressed directly, “Woman, why are you crying?” (Jn 20:13). Even more significantly, she was the first to see and speak with the resurrected Christ (Jn 20:14-16).

And this Mary was the one who carried the good news to the apostles — that Jesus had indeed risen from the dead. She had been granted first-hand evidence (Jn 20:18).

Consider her unfolding story in more detail.

On the first Sunday after Our Lord’s crucifixion, Jesus’ followers were in utter confusion. The Jewish sabbath was over. The feast of unleavened bread was still in progress. But, their leader, in whom they had lodged such hope, was dead and buried –- permanently, so far as they could tell.

For a small group of women who had supported Jesus’ ministries out of their own resources, all that was left was an emotional visit or two to the borrowed tomb where their fallen hero had been hastily buried. They could finish the work of embalming and then deal with their shattered hope as best they could.

Foremost among that band of women was Mary Magdalene. Based on her history of deliverance, she had great reason to love the Lord with feeling, and to grieve deeply over his shameful death.

John says she was the one who first discovered the tomb to be vacant (Jn 20:1). He reports that it was early in the morning and it was still dark. But the stage of the moon provided enough light for her to see that the stone had been rolled to one side, leaving a gaping hole in the rock. And peering in, she could see that the ledge where his body had been laid was empty.

What could this mean? Based on her limited facts –- the tomb was both open and vacant — she drew a mistaken conclusion and hurried back into the city to report to two of the apostles, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him” (Jn 20:2).

Her conclusion was drawn in the darkness, with misty eyes and a depth of grief that would be sure to cloud her thinking. Besides, the possibility of a resurrection to explain the vacancy would be the last thing to occur to her.

Then, to this distraught woman a stranger materialized behind her and repeated the question the angel had already asked, “Woman, why are you crying?” Thinking it was the gardener, she addressed him, perhaps with an edge in her voice, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”

At that moment, the risen Lord spoke her name and she recognized the voice and responded with great surprise, “Rabboni!”

Before she hurried off to carry the news to the apostles, and before any other follower heard the word, the resurrected Lord gave her advanced notice of his coming ascension to the Father (Jn 20:17).

Why would the gospel writers give her such attention? Women in Palestine in the first century were on the bottom rung of the social ladder. A rabbinic saying went: “blessed is he whose children are male, but woe to him whose children are female.”

Another rabbinic saying goes, “Let the words of law be burned rather than delivered to women.”

The Gospel was ahead of its time. It elevated womanhood. Here is a woman who once was under demonic possession but who had been miraculously delivered. Then to top all else, the Master had trusted her first with the Good News.

And beyond that, even ahead of the other women, she is the first to carry that Good News to the other disciples (Jn 20:18).

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Questions for Mary, the Mother of Our Lord

Saint Luke tells with amazing brevity the story of the Angel Gabriel’s announcement to the Virgin Mary: she is miraculously to be the mother of the Messiah. Mary’s response, her subsequent visit with cousin Elizabeth, and her beautiful song of worship, are all recorded with few words (Luke 1:26-56).

But, when the news broke, were responses in family and community as completely serene as the account would suggest?

After all, how could such an announcement fail to land with jarring impact first on her parents, then on Joseph, to whom she was pledged to be married, and then on the town of Nazareth where she lived?

Here are some questions Luke, the physician, does not answer.

How did Mary’s mother find out about her virgin daughter’s angel-announced pregnancy? Did Mary tell her? If so, what was her immediate response? Imagine the response today if a teenaged girl should say to her mother, “An angel appeared to me yesterday and told me I’m going to have a baby without any man’s involvement.” Would she just say, “Fine,” and go on emptying the dishwasher? And how did her father take the news?

Then there’s Joseph, the man she’s pledged to marry. How did he find out? Matthew tells us that, so far as Joseph was concerned, Mary “was found to be with child. . . .” Did her parents tell Joseph? Or did Mary?

We know that, however he got the news, at first he was downright upset. His immediate impulse was to break the engagement (actually to divorce her according to Jewish customs at the time). But he would do so as quietly as possible so as not to subject her to public disgrace.

Was Mary in anguish during that time over what his decision would be? An angel had to appear to Joseph in a dream to settle him down. He then took Mary into his home though they were not intimate, Matthew tells us, until after the baby was born. (Matt. 1:18-25).

Then I’m curious especially about Mary’s trip to be with her aged cousin, Elizabeth (Luke 1:39-56). It is likely that Elizabeth and Zechariah, her husband, lived in Hebron, a town some distance south of Jerusalem.

The distance from Nazareth to Hebron could have been 80 miles or more. How does this carefully chaperoned young woman (according to the customs of the times) get from her home to that distant place? One assumes she walked, as all poor people did back then.

Going straight south, she would have to travel through the hostile territory of Samaria. If not, to avoid this course she may have crossed the Jordan south of Lake Galilee and traveled along the eastern side to another crossing near the Jericho. From there, there would be a long upward climb to Jerusalem, perhaps for 15 miles, and then still a good stretch of travel further south to reach Hebron.

So, did her father go with her? Or was she sent in a caravan of travelers? And, where did she stay overnight on the three- or four-day trip? There were no Holiday Inns.

Then, after three months with Elizabeth, she returned to her home town, Nazareth. How did the community respond? Her pregnancy would then be in its second trimester. So, when her mother sent her to the well for water and she carried the vessel on her head, did her peers snicker behind their hands as she passed by? If so, how did Mary deal with such scorn?

I believe Luke, the careful historian, would have known the answers to these questions. He says (Luke in 1:3) his research had been thorough. Years later he may have visited with Mary in Ephesus where the Apostle John is said to have taken her to live. If so, he would have had the details firsthand.

Then, why does he leave such information out? It must be because he isn’t writing a novelette to portray human conflict and struggle. He’s writing a chapter in the story of redemption. He’s reporting on the Virgin Mary’s willingness to be the servant of The Almighty in bringing into the world a Messiah. Joy is the dominant note.

Only later, a man named Simeon, a devout worshiper of God, prophecies to her that later in her life her suffering will be great as a part of this mission (Luke 2:35).

So, what does all this say about Mary? There’s no trace in the gospel accounts that Mary was to be worshiped, or even treated as in any way unique from the rest of humanity. She is simply a deeply devout young Jewish girl who has kept herself pure, and is selected by the Almighty to be the bearer of the Messiah. She is immediately willing to carry that burden.

We can’t answer the many questions Luke’s story makes us want to ask. But, during Advent, Mary, the virgin, should be held up as a model for purity and openness to God’s will for service to Him. Her response to Gabriel’s announcement rings down the centuries: “I am the Lord’s servant, and I am willing to accept anything he wants. May everything you have said come true” (Luke 1:39 NLT).

What is Faith — Really?

A Sunday School lad was asked what he thought the word “faith” meant. He said, “Faith means believing what you know ain’t so.”

The boy’s response may seem extreme, but not entirely off-base because, at times, what you call faith may seem almost non-existent. There is a God; of that you’re sure. But when unexpected adversity strikes, the robust faith that others seem to have is just not there for you. It leaves you asking: what is faith — really?

Here’s an answer right out of the Scriptures: “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see (Heb. 11:1).

The first word of importance here is hope. We usually use the word in mundane ways: “After college. I hope to go to graduate school.” Or “I hope the doctor’s report will be positive.” What we get from such sentences is that hope means optimism about our unforeseen future, and we all need some of that.

But the author of Hebrews uses the word in a much more comprehensive way. It has to do not only with the world our five senses experience but also with the unseen world our spiritual senses engage – the world where God dwells. Elsewhere the writer says that hope is “an anchor for the soul, firm and secure,” and this anchor binds us to where “Jesus who went before us” is (Heb. 6:19,20).

Faith insists that there is more to reality than what we perceive in the moment. In fact, this broader understanding of reality makes one think of St. Paul’s caution to the Corinthian church: “If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all men (1 Cor. 15:19). We believe that Christ was raised from the dead, and based on that belief we must hold our promised resurrection dear.

So, when the author of the Hebrews says “Faith is being sure of what we hope for” he is saying that our trust in Christ for both time and eternity gives us a certainty that anchors the life we live here and now – this life with its hurts and disappointments as well as its pleasures and surprises. This faith makes us sure of Christ; we are sure of our salvation; we are sure that Our Lord will not leave us alone in the tough times; and this faith makes us sure that our faith in Christ makes our eternal future in him secure.

The author of the Hebrews tells us also that faith makes us “certain of what we do not see” — at least what we do not see with our physical eyes. Here again reality for Christians has a broader perspective than just the here-and-now. We have eyes to see in this life and we use them with joy, but there is a larger reality that goes beyond the physical act of seeing. When Jesus promised his disciples that, “where I am you will be also” he was thinking with this larger vision (John 14:3). When this faith is fully exercised, it grounds our lives in a certainty. Call it Heaven.

We need not be in a hurry to get there. We don’t have to renounce the goodness of our present life or our challenges as God presents them in the here-and-now. The call to faith is never a call to be gloomy. In fact, our life needs this broader perspective in order for us to function with strength and joy in the present. So, authentic Christian faith makes us “certain of what we do not see.”

Is there another way to say this? Eugene Peterson in THE MESSAGE paraphrases the verse from Hebrews this way: “The fundamental fact of existence is that this trust in God, this faith, is the firm foundation under everything that makes life worth living.”

And Oswald Chambers had a fix on the realities of this kind of faith when he wrote, “Faith is a deliberate confidence in the character of God whose ways you may not understand at the time.”

Again, Rabindranath Tagore understood that faith makes us adequate and keeps us calm when the stresses of the here-and-now are severe. He wrote: “Faith is a bird that feels dawn breaking and sings while it is still dark.”

So, the faith we are called to in the Scriptures is really the opposite of “believing what we know ain’t so.” It is being assured of the reality of what we hope for (in Christ) and made certain of what we do not see (with our physical eyes but do see with our spiritual eyes). We know what faith is and, taken this way, it gives us solid footing for life!